


The monster called "frustration" and their mother "stress"

by cmoknausne



Series: Puberty Is A Magical Thing [5]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Robin: Son of Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Hangry, Hormones, Pets, Puberty, Slice of Life, Stress, acne, highschool, pet peeves, pimples
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-06 19:34:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20512337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmoknausne/pseuds/cmoknausne
Summary: Mother nature leaves nobody unscathed.





	The monster called "frustration" and their mother "stress"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EllieJef2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieJef2/gifts).

> I really want to thank EllieJef2, because their comments left on 2 works of this series really made me happy and inspired me to write this. It isn't much or raunchy ;) but I still wanted to write this, because I enjoy when comic books, films, tv shows or books show how raw and organic the characters are or can be and that most of the time they experience very similar things just like us. It shows that they are in fact not indestructible and this being that never gets a tummy ache, is self-conscious about their appearance or hangry.
> 
> Mandatory "English is not my native tongue, cut me some slack" :)  
I hope my intent is at least somewhat conveyed in this ficlet.  
Also, I have some more ideas, so this series is for sure not done yet! :)

Damian had been stressed out of his mind for some time now. He doesn’t even know what caused the giant ball of stress to begin snowballing and eventually crush him. He does, however, have a theory like the proper detective he claims to be.

“Humans, people are multidimensional beings with many roles in life. One person can be a father, a son, a businessman, a hobby fisherman, a neighbor, an employee and so on. With each role, different responsibilities and relationships with other people are acquired and need to be tended to. If one of these aspects aren’t tended to correctly or are neglected, thus resulting in problems, it can or will cause stress on the beholder of these roles,” the teacher, ever the matriarch explained to the quite class.  
The classroom was thick with recycled carbon-dioxide, oxygen barely present. The oxygen-deprived air was a result of the sociology teacher mercilessly ruling over the classroom for nearly two hours. The sun burning down onto the asphalt outside, making the longing of finally going home stronger as the minutes ticked by. Damian’s eyes had been glancing over to the clock for the last ten minutes every minute as if the minutes would suddenly become shorter if he looked at the clock every time. He was sluggishly slummed over his desk, school uniform tugging at him in all the wrong places. Sweat, dirt, and grime from school and the warm weather living rent-free for the day on his back and every crease.  
“Mister Wayne, I would recommend, that you pay attention, unless you want to stay after school and look over the course material to make sure you really have it in your head.”, his teacher didn’t even bother to look at him, knowing the boy would correct his posture and at least act like he is listening to her.  
In his mind, Damian was damning this woman to hell and back. He knew she was power tripping and nothing he could have said or done would satisfy her. Besides, it was Friday afternoon, everyone just wanted to get the hell out of that stunk up place.  
When Damian and the rest of the student population were finally allowed to pile out of the school building, it was like being reborn. Damian took a deep breath of fresh air determinedly making his way to the usual spot was Alfred waited in a car for him every day. Always the same spot. Not directly in front of the school but also not in the parking lot. It was strategically chosen by Damian himself.  
Alfred hadn’t arrived yet, not exactly unusual but still annoying. Damian knew he wouldn’t wait long, Alfred always being a man of his word. Which meant, if he hadn’t arrived after a reasonable amount of time, Damian knew to alert his father.  
As Damian was standing there, a few feet from the curb, he felt his stomach grumble. He felt sick from not haven eaten in a few hours; which in return annoyed him even more. With a frown on his face now, he looked around sullenly. Nothing out of the ordinary. As he spotted Alfred driving up to him, he took a few steps forward standing just at the edge of the curb, a puddle of water sitting there, hidden behind the curb on the street. Before he could give it any more thought, the car barged right through that puddle of gross street water, causing it to splash up and onto Damian's legs.  
Damian hadn’t even bothered to move. He grumbled a few words, cursing. Damian, being the disgruntled 15 years old forcefully opened and closed the front door to the car, throwing his backpack onto the backseats and leaning his head on the window.  
You see, the puddle of water should not have been there. It hadn’t rained in a few days, the sun burning down onto the city of Gotham. The water had been placed there by somebody; it wasn’t an intricate plan to annoy and sabotage Damian's day any further, no, it was just some spoiled teen emptying their plastic water bottle, because “it doesn’t taste fresh anymore” a few minutes earlier.  
When Damian and Alfred arrived home, Alfred nonchalantly informed Damian, that he didn’t have any time to prepare a meal for him and that he wouldn’t be able to now and that Damian would please fix himself a meal as he is old enough.  
Damian wasn’t particularly mad at Alfred; that man worked so much that he probably forgot what it was like to work for once. Damian was merely irritated, that his hunger couldn’t be fixed immediately. Damian had simply thrown his backpack, jacket and tie onto his bed, washed his hands quickly and then was already in the kitchen searching, scavenging for anything edible that didn’t require any long and intricate cooking.  
Some stale cookies, a banana, and some cold leftover rice would do, for now, he thought to himself.  
Alfred had been long gone; he left sometime between Damian disappearing into his room and coming back down to the kitchen. Alfred had informed Damian that his father needed him at WE, or something some stupid suit.  
The teen started noticing the stench coming off him, while he devoured the food before him on the kitchen isle. Damian’s annoyance rising just ever so slightly. He finished his “meal” and went to shower.  
The rest of his day consisted of mundane homework, him finding his sketchbook bloated and wavy on his desk (one of his pets had knocked a glass of water he had so stupidly left on his desk), a headache banging on the nerves of his right eye and his right temple, Alfred the cat throwing up on his bed, stepping on a small puddle of water in his socks, he foolishly created when he took a shower and later he kept tripping over his own feet when he trained down in the Batcave. Damian's frustration grew and grew into a big monster, waiting to be released and crush him.  
Dinner with his father and Alfred didn’t help soothe that monster called frustration. His father clearly mentally exhausted from the day, asking questions about Damian's day. To make it short; the conversation was just plain annoying to Damian.  
Patrol hadn’t been any better. Damian kept tripping over his own feet. Some Riddler goons getting a few light punches in. Neither Damian or the big bad Batman had been happy about his performance that night.  
The only thing that could fix this day, week was a long and well-needed slumber in his cozy bed.  
The next day Damian decided to grace the world with his presence at around 11 am. With his headache gone and sleep marks all over his body, he sauntered into his bathroom, his pets merely lifting their heads, making sure that he only went to the bathroom. Damian gets a few good stretches in before he stood in front of his mirror and sink. He didn’t bother to look at himself in the mirror yet, just washed his face and brushed his teeth. It was then, after his mini routine that he noticed the rather big red pimple on his left cheek near his eye. It was mean looking and hurt when Damian poked at it with his fingers.  
Never in his 15 years of existence, did Damian have a pimple. Not one. Blessed with seemingly perfect skin. Well, well, well, mother nature rarely leaves teen out, when she gives out pimples. Especially, not when all the wonderful hormones that float around a pubescent body and especially not, when that certain body had been under copious amounts of stress and frustration.  
Damian was irritated, to say the least. He thought or hoped that he is above pubescent breakouts.  
He decided to carry on with his day, pimple or not. Arriving at the kitchen, to his surprise he found one Tim Drake eating away at his lovingly made breakfast and conversing with Alfred while smiling about something, Damian wasn’t bothered to find out. As Damian sat down at the kitchen aisle next to Tim, he uttered a “Good morning.”, voice still raspy from sleep.  
Tim looked at him incredulously, almost staring. “What is it?”, Damian said exasperated, not even bothering to turn and look at Tim.  
“Is that a pimple?”, Tim narrowed his eyes, focusing his gaze at the brooding pimple. “Isn’t that like your first pimple? Huh, so you are actually human.”  
“Shut up.”, Damian curtly said. Not wanting to hear any more words about that damn pimple. Tim just snickered but didn’t mention it any further.  
Later that day, sometime before patrol, down in the Batcave, Nightwing had noticed the pimple too. Tim and Dick making a few jokes, Dick reassuring that it was perfectly normal. Damian, of course, having none of it, because he knew it was normal, he’d just rather not have that pimple.  
Who would have thought, even superheroes have pimples.


End file.
